


run while you still can

by mightbemelissa



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Clone Wars (2003) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Episode: s04e12 Slaves of the Republic, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Rape/Non-con Elements, Reunion, Separation, Slavery, Zygerria, Zygerria au, Zygerrian AU, dark themes but nothing graphic, nothing is too graphic okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-04-19 20:01:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14244690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mightbemelissa/pseuds/mightbemelissa
Summary: He sacrificed himself to save his comrades - no, he's not a Jedi anymore, so he can call them what they really are, his best friends -and sentenced himself to a life of slavery.She believed him to be dead - her husband, which for the first time she could admit - and found herself alone and pregnant.Both are wrong in their beliefs. Anakin's friends are also in chains. Padmé's husband is alive. And when they learn the truth, nothing in the galaxy will be the same.





	1. a new story begins

**Author's Note:**

> Dark themes are covered in this story. While nothing is graphic it is important to know that there is rape, slavery, and torture. 
> 
>   **Disclaimer:** I own none of this.

            The worst part about it was that she found out from the holonews. No, that wasn’t true, that was the shock speaking, the worst part of it was that her husband was dead. But, her first thought upon learning of his death was that learning about it from reporters was the worst part. When she had married Anakin she knew that the risks of a secret marriage included learning bad news from outside sources but knowing and experiencing were very different things, she discovered. He was dead. The Hero with No Fear was dead. Her husband was dead. And she found out from a news reporter. Padmé fell to her knees crying.

 

* * *

 

            The worst part about it was the he was never going to see her again. No, that wasn’t true, that was the trauma speaking, the worst part was that he was now a slave, again, but his first thought as he bowed before the Zygerrian queen was of Padmé. How he was never going to see her again. How he was going to have to spend the rest of his life as a slave, after he and his mother lost so much for his freedom, serving a queen he hated and his wife would never know. At least Obi-Wan, Rex, and Ahsoka were free, at least he had that solace. But he would probably be declared dead, the mission too covert and his fame too widespread to announce his captivity. _Kriff_ , his wife would have learned about his supposed death in the worst way possible, not the way that a war hero’s wife deserved. He was legally dead, his wife was alone, and she would never know the truth. The truth that he was a slave, just like when they met. _No, I’m a person and my name is Anakin_ , he told himself. He kneeled before the queen and hoped his helmet hid his tears.


	2. oh my poor soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Struggling with the loss of her husband, Padmé learns she's less alone than she originally thought. Stuck on Zygerria, Anakin couldn't possibly be more alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the reviews for the prologue! I really didn't expect such a reaction with it being so short. Don't expect updates this frequently, I just wanted to get the first chapter posted since the prologue is so short. All following chapters have the same format as this one, the first part from Padmé's point of view and the second from Anakin's. 
> 
> Dark themes are covered in this story. While nothing is graphic it is important to know that there is rape, slavery, and torture. 
> 
>   **Disclaimer:** I own none of this.

            It was just the stress, or at least that’s what she managed to convince herself at first. The nausea had started just over a week after Anakin’s death, which Padmé was able to tell herself was just her body’s way of reacting to the loss. She felt dead inside, with her husband dead, so it made sense that she would also have a physical reaction, especially when considering she couldn’t outwardly express her emotions. Nobody could see an esteemed senator mourning a Jedi knight the way one mourns a husband. It would tarnish Anakin’s reputation, which was why they kept the secret in the first place. The memory of the Hero With No Fear would be destroyed and people still needed that, needed Anakin, even with him gone. His legacy sustained people, his memory gave them hope. She couldn’t take that away by mourning her husband’s death publicly. She still needed him but that was beside the point, with the war still spreading.

            But her nausea quickly turned into vomiting and Padmé found herself leaving multiple meetings to empty the contents of her stomach. Her colleagues, notably Bail and Mon, noticed her sickness but Padmé continued insisting it was nothing. It had to be nothing, she just had a cold, that was the reason she was waking up sick and throwing up throughout the day, and why the smell of shurra fruit made her stomach churn and she would do anything for chocolate covered bantha jerky. She was peeing a lot but it had to be because she was drinking so much water to ease her nausea.  Her exhaustion and fatigue was because of how much her heart ached for husband. It could all be explained away. It wasn’t until Padmé was trying to tie her senatorial robe only to feel like everything was too snug that she realized her ailments might be more than disease and the symptoms mourning. Giving up on her robes she slipped into the most comfortable clothing she owned, one of Anakin’s extra tunics and a pair of her casual leggings. Wrapped in the comfort of his clothes Padmé couldn’t help but think of him, and then she thought of how sick she’d been. Her eyes seemed to bulge and it felt like for a second her heart had stopped. She was no longer in denial, that was for sure.

            An uncomfortable feeling formed deep in the pit of her stomach, unrelated to the nearly constant nausea, as Padmé asked her handmaiden, Moteé, to call into her senatorial office to inform the staff that she would be out sick for the day. Before she even heard a response from her handmaiden, Padmé locked herself in her bathroom and riffled through the cabinet. She knew she had a spare one somewhere, she’d always had one on hand since her marriage. When she spotted the box at the back of a drawer, next to sanitary products that she just realized she had not used since before Anakin’s death, she froze. _This can’t be happening_ , she thought.

            Padmé’s eyes scanned over the instructions for the test. A prick of blood from the tip of her finger, wait five standard minutes, and then look at the screen for the results. Those proved to be some of the longest five minutes of her life. Padmé paced her bedroom, wringing her hands and checking the clock every few seconds, the test sat on the counter in the bathroom, processing her blood. She had thought being in a different room would ease her nerves but it had clearly been false hope. When the ding of a timer announced the five minutes had passed, Padmé nearly fell from the momentum of her desperate rush. She stopped just short of the counter, scared to see the results of the test. She wasn’t even sure what result she wanted. With a deep breath, Padmé grabbed the small stick and read the results. Seconds later the test fell to the ground, released from her hand, loose due to shock. Hands clutching her stomach, Padmé backed up until she was against the wall and slowly slid to the ground, joining the pregnancy test on the cool bathroom tile. The screen of the test seemed to be burned into her mind. **Positive. 3 Months.** _What am I going to do?_

            She didn’t even realize she was crying until Moteé knocked softly on the door and asked her what was wrong. Unable to speak, Padmé flung her arms around Moteé, seeking some much-needed comfort. Her handmaiden caught her, startled, but quickly responded, hugging her lady. When Moteé’s eyes landed on the pregnancy test discarded on the ground, she understood. Gently, she took Padmé tighter in her arms before leading her lady back into the bedroom. She lay her down, wrapping blankets tight around her. The handmaid's heart was breaking for her lady, how could it not, when she knew the father of the unborn child was dead and, somewhere far away, scattered among the stars.

            Late into the day, when the warm early evening light coated her bedroom with a honey hue, Padmé rose from her bed, clutching her small snippet of japor. The tears that had raced down her cheeks were long dry and a determination had settled deep in Padmé’s soul. She was going to do this. “Moteé, I need you to schedule me a doctor’s appointment.”

            “Of course, milady.” Her handmaiden replied, not telling her lady that she already had done so.

            “Threepio,” Padmé called, when the droid came in she instructed him, “I want all of the wine and brandy removed from my apartment, could you do that for me? And once that’s done collect as many holobooks you can on human pregnancy,” She paused for a second and added as an afterthought, “And any on single parenting.” As the droid puttered out of the room, Padmé nodded to herself and moved to her balcony. A hand drifted to her abdomen and she laid it gently above where she knew their child rested. He was gone but he had left her one last gift. Anakin would never know about their baby, about the life they created through their love, but she knew and she was going to be the best mother possible. She was going to do it, Padmé was confident. As she stood, looking over the endless city coated in the golden fading light of the sun, Padmé smiled, a soft barely-there curve of the lips, for the first time since Anakin’s death.

 

* * *

 

            Padmé’s first week knowing she was pregnant was her first happy week since that dreaded holoreport. Her nausea and vomiting, despite being uncomfortable, felt like a gift. It meant her child was growing. Their child. With Anakin dead she had lost her everything. She had no holos of the two of them, all their pictures were stored in Artoo, who was most likely scrap metal beside Anakin’s distant grave. All she had left of him was the japor snippet, the necklace that spent every moment resting against Padmé’s heart or cradled in her hand and his padawan braid, tucked safely in a box, hidden below her bed. But being pregnant meant she had more. She had a piece of Anakin with her always. A piece of Anakin growing and changing and keeping her strong. A piece of Anakin that in six or so months would be in her arms, living evidence of their love. _It wouldn’t be a secret anymore_ , Padmé realized. She also realized she didn’t care. Damn the consequences, she had already lost Anakin, she wasn’t going to hide their love from their baby, from the galaxy, not without him by her side.

            Bail commented on how happy she looked one afternoon at the end of a meeting. It took all of Padmé’s strength not to blurt out that she was expecting, it was too early to tell. But she did skim her hand over where her baby grew and smiled in reply, “I’m feeling happy, Bail,” She replied honestly, “I’m feeling happy.”

            His eyes twinkled with kindness and he placed a warm hand on her shoulder as he said, “That is good to hear, my friend, after the news of Knight Skywalker’s death… I know how close the two of you were.”

            Padmé’s own smile faded a little at Bail’s words, “We were close,” Padmé said as diplomatically as she could, “And I will miss him greatly, but I cannot let his death put my own life on hold.” For a moment, Padmé expected Bail to say more on the subject but instead he suggested they go out for dinner with Breha, his wife, who so rarely left Alderaan and was visiting him for the week. Graciously, Padmé had to decline. While she would have loved to see Breha, she knew that seeing such a happy couple would only hurt her, so close to Anakin’s death. As they parted, Padmé reminded Bail that she would not be in the senate building the next day due to personal matters, meaning her first prenatal appointment.

            Part of Padmé considered just seeing a medical droid, but she knew if Anakin were with her he would want the best care possible for their baby, and only a sentient doctor could provide such care. She was nervous entering the medical center and as she waited to meet with her doctor. Her heart clenched as she filled out the necessary paperwork and, for the first time since her marriage, was honest about her relationship status, as she checked off the widowed box. She bit her lip as she handed the datachip with her medical and personal information on it, knowing that from that moment on, even if it wasn’t instantaneous, her marriage to Anakin would be revealed. Someone would connect the dots and even with laws in place protecting patient confidentiality, both her and Anakin were too high profile for no one to be willing to break the rules. Even then, she had written her name as Padmé Naberrie Skywalker. The nurse would announce to the entire waiting room that they were ready for her. The news would be out. And, surprising even herself, Padmé wasn’t worried. She wanted people to know about her marriage. She had spent months worrying about hiding their marriage to protect his legacy but their baby was the only legacy that mattered. She’d lost him and she never got to claim him, so with their baby one day carrying his name, she wanted the galaxy to know he was hers, even for such a short time. Padmé ghosted a comforting hand over her abdomen, it was the right thing to do, it was what she wanted to do. There was no longer a risk of Anakin being expelled from the Jedi Order. The only damage would be to her reputation and, frankly, the holonews would probably portray her as a broken-hearted widow carrying the grief of raising a child alone and would most likely improve her approval rating.

            “Mrs. Skywalker,” A nurse called, her eyes were down at the datapad immediately darted up to look for who shared a name with the Hero with No Fear, as did all the other pregnant woman waiting for their turn, “Oh my, Senator Amidala. Right this way.” _By the time I’m done with this appointment everyone between here and Tatooine will know about our marriage_ , Padmé thought as she followed the nurse into an examination room. The nurse puttered around, doing basic tests such as taking her temperature, her blood pressure, weight, and all the other exams that can be conducted without a doctor. “Doctor Ack-shah will be with you in just a moment, you should change into this gown while you wait,” The nurse said as she was leaving. She paused in the doorway and added, “Congratulations, Senator, and… I’m sorry for your loss.”

            “Thank you,” Padmé said, her eyes getting misty when she realized it was the first words of condolence she received from someone other than a handmaiden.

            Forty-five standard minutes later when Padmé left the doctor’s office with her bag weighed down from pregnancy pamphlets, her eyes were misty for a whole different reason. How was she supposed to raise _twins_ alone?

 

* * *

* * *

 

            The first months on Zygerria were the worst months of his entire life, bar none. It was worse than the month when the war started, when he lost his mother and his arm within the span of days, because at least then he had Padmé, he had hope, he had freedom. Now he was alone and enslaved. It was a necessary trade, his freedom for the lives of Ahsoka, Obi-wan, and Rex, but it still was brutal on Anakin. But he had been presented the choice between sentencing his friends to a life of slavery and most likely death or freeing them by swearing loyalty to the queen. Doubting that the Jedi would risk their resources to save them, Anakin saw no other choice, and agreed.

            His work for the queen consisted of standing guard. Wherever she went, he was instructed to follow, his head held high despite the force restricting cuffs, dressed like the lavish jewelry of the queen, that adorned his arms. Anakin remembered his mother always walking tall, being able to maintain dignity despite an entire life in slavery. He felt like a pet led on a leash, the queen parading him around as her prized protector and captive Jedi wrapped into the perfect package of the attractive Hero With No Fear.

            Every time the queen, _call me Miraj when we are alone_ , came near him, Anakin had to suppress a shudder. She disgusted him in so many ways. Her entire empire, her rulership, was built on slavery. Equality was a joke to her and the rights of sentient beings mattered not. All that mattered was money for her and her people, for the success of the Zygerrians and no one else. She was the antithesis of Padmé. Padmé who supported democracy, freedom for everyone, who fought to end slavery and end conflict. Padmé who he loved. Her differences from Padmé, so disgusting and glaringly obvious in every way, made her actions towards him so much worse.

            She invaded his space, tracing a claw gently down his cheek, his arm, his chest, every time she passed. When walking she had him stand close to her, too close, as if he was her looming shadow. The worst was the end of the night. Every night when they would reach the ornate doors to her personal quarters she would turn to him. She would slowly trace a pattern across his armored chest or his exposed arm and bring her mouth close to his ear, whispering a request for him to join her. Every night he refused.

            “Soon, my dear pet, you will join me,” She would always purr, tracing one final line down his bicep, before slipping into her room.

            Every night Anakin would return to his own lavish quarters, a thinly veiled cell, and resist the urge to vomit. Once his nausea, solely from his disgust for the queen, faded, Anakin would lay down his bed, armor tossed to the side, and scratch another tally mark in the stone wall. Sometimes he would try to reach out in the Force to Padmé, to Obi-wan, to anybody, but the cuffs never let his message go past the walls of his own mind. Sometimes he would scratch the design from the japor snippet he had given Padmé so long ago into the wall. Most nights though, he would simply fall into a restless sleep, his mind struggling against the Force blocking of his cuffs and his heart aching to be home. His work should have been easy, but bearing the emotional toll of it all was the hardest thing Anakin had ever faced. But by the end of the sixth month it was easy, for he had grown numb. Slavery had become his life once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said in the opening note, I was floored by the reaction for the prologue so I hope to hear your thoughts for this chapter as well! Again, there won't be another update soon, I want to finish future chapters before posting the ones I already have done. 
> 
> As always check out my [tumblr](http://estrangedlestrange.tumblr.com) for updates and other anidala content!


	3. two hearts started dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like all children, the twins derail Padmé's plans and, more alone than ever, Anakin feels a shift in the Force.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to get this chapter up! I was really trying to get more of the future chapters done before posting, but with writer's block slowing me down I thought it would be better to share the next chapter with you guys!

            Nervously, Padmé adjusted her jacket, pulling so it covered more of her protruding stomach. Since her election as the Nubian queen Padmé had been accustomed to holoreporters and cameras following her around, but it had never been as much of a constant or as invasive as it had been since the news of her marriage and pregnancy was revealed. She went from being one of the leaders of the senate minority and an outspoken opponent of the war to tabloid fodder within the span of a single doctor’s appointment. Six months had passed since her private life became public knowledge and Padmé still could not escape the cameras.

            The only thing stopping Padmé from taking her purse and whacking the nearest camera out of the sky was the comforting fact that in two weeks she would be home. She had decided to have the baby on Naboo and would be off Coruscant and away from probing eyes in just two weeks. Her due date was three weeks away and then she would have at least for months of peace, bonding with her children and free from the relentless gaze of the public. After talks with the queen it was decided that a representative would be taking her place in the senate while she is away on maternity leave and, when ready, Padmé would be welcomed back to her position. It was a comfort for Padmé, despite the turmoil of her pregnancy and the loss of Anakin, she could continue to work for the improvement of the galaxy and be a mother for her twins.

            Padmé had been sure it was the perfect plan, even with the cameras still following her. And it would have been the perfect plan if not for the fact that babies, like all children, never follow their parents plans. Which was why, as Padmé tightened her jacket, she felt a tightening in her abdomen. She brushed off the wave of pain, she had been having practice contractions on and off for the past month. The pain was not going to stop her from going into the senate building to work on her newest bill. It was at the top of the senate steps, right before entering the building, when there was another wave of tightening and pain. The pain was worse than it had been before but again, she ignored it, just as she ignored the cameras she was leaving behind by entering the building. It was not until Padmé was sitting behind her desk, trying to read through the latest update in the bill made by Bail, and the fourth or fifth wave of pain came, about ten standard minutes after the one before, that Padmé realized the contractions might not be practice.

            Her head shot up and she looked at the clock. She couldn’t be sure exactly how much time had passed and decided to keep track of how much time passed before the next tightening feeling. If the contractions would practice, the gap between the feeling would be long and inconsistent. But instead, ten minutes after she started counting, the pain was back, rippling through her lower body and spreading from her back.

            “Kriff,” She said, under her breath, as she prayed for tears not to form. She wasn’t ready. She wasn’t _home_. She had been prepared to give birth without Anakin by her side but without her family? With no one? Taking steadying breaths, Padmé pulled out her com and sent a message to Moteé, begging the handmaiden to come to the office and help. Seconds later, when the handmaiden hurried in to help her stand from her desk, Padmé had managed to steel herself to do this alone. She had been queen at fourteen, she had stopped wars and fought battles, she had broken laws and broken hearts, she could do what billions upon billions of women have always done and give birth. Even if she wasn’t home, even if she didn’t have cribs in her apartment or her mother’s hand to hold, Padmé was ready to give birth.

* * *

 

            For a moment, for just one single moment, Padmé considered dying. She thought to herself she could bring her babies into the world and just die. That would be it. She could just slip away and be reunited with Anakin. But then Luke was born and one of the healers attending to her held him up for her to see. And there shining in her son’s eyes was Anakin, in the scrunch of his nose and the newborn wails, Padmé could see Anakin. And she also saw her future. She couldn’t leave her babies. She wasn't ready to die, and so Padmé did not die. Padmé had just a moment to reach out and hold one of Luke’s tiny hands before the next contraction hit. It was one of the most perfect moments of her life.

            Delivering Leia felt easier for Padmé. While it was only a few minutes between, she knew she could do it. She had Luke only feet away from her as proof that she could do it. With one final strong push, Leia’s wails filled the room, joining the softer cries of her brother. Padmé collapsed against the pillows behind her, drained of energy but wearing the biggest smile she had worn in months. Despite her hair being plastered across her forehead from sweat, the red around her eyes from crying, and the bright flush to her face, Padmé had never looked more radiant than the moment after giving birth. It was as if all the light in the galaxy was centered on her and her two babies. Just as she had with Luke, Padmé reached out a hand towards Leia, tracing her index finger down the soft curve of the newborn’s cheek.

            “They’re perfect,” Padmé said, more to herself than any of the healers, “They’re absolutely perfect.” As Leia was brought away to be cleaned and tested, Luke was placed into her arms, his eyelids already fluttering closed, hiding away the same blue eyes of his father.

            Despite her exhaustion, once she had both twins, Padmé had no desire to go to sleep. She sat up in her bed with both newborns laying in her lap, Luke sleeping soundly and Leia looking up at her with large brown eyes. Padmé had to hold back tears when she gave herself a single moment to think of Anakin, she didn’t want to mar the happiness of her children’s birth with the sorrow she felt, “Your father should be here. He would love you so much. So very much.”

            Come the next morning her parents and sister would arrive on an express transport from Naboo, but for that night it was just her and her babies. She pressed kisses across their cheeks, atop their heads, along their fingertips and toes, treasuring every detail of them. Alone with the twins, she tried to memorize every detail of them, from Luke’s long lashes to the soft curve of Leia’s nose. As Luke’s fingers curled around one of Padmé’s fingers, a warmth spread through her. She was all they had, and, in many ways, they were all she had, as well. Padmé learned how to feed them, how to hold them, and how to change a diaper with only the healer to help. But with each new skill she learned and with each new detail of her babies she studied, Padmé grew more confident in the fact that she could be a mother. That she could be a single mother.

* * *

* * *

 

            Something was different. The Force felt brighter, brighter than anything Anakin had ever felt before. If he stretched his memory maybe, but just maybe, it had been as bright and harmonious when he was on Tatooine, young and in the arms of his mother, protected despite the terrors of slavery. But whatever had happened, whatever had resonated, was so strong, so light, so pure, that it managed to travel lightyears and break through not only the darkness that clouded the Force since the start of the war but also through the powerful Force repressing cuffs adorning his wrists.

            The light in the Force was so strong, the when Anakin felt it he stumbled. It was as if the balance of the universe tilted closer to the light and as it moved, it made his footing change, too. Queen Miraj glanced at him, only interested enough in his actions to be curious as to why he broke from his stance, not to know what had truly caused it. A flash in her eyes indicated her annoyance, despite him being her favorite slave toy the queen did not take well to distractions or improper actions. Anakin’s status and her favor towards him would not protect him from a lashing, in fact, unlike with other slaves she would often take pleasure from punishing him herself as opposed to having an officer do so. For other slaves, she would even have Anakin himself administer the lashings, pleased to watch the once honorable and just Jedi stooping so low to as abandon his own principles at her word.

            “My apologies, your highness,” Anakin said, returning to attention.

            “Don’t let it happen again, my pet,” She replied, “You know how much I hate to punish you.” Anakin knew the exact opposite. She loved to punish him. She loved the power of being in control, of being the owner and master of a Jedi knight. She loved the feeling of having him grovel at her feet and beg for the lashings to stop and he knew that because she refused to stop doing so until he begged. It was all a testament to her power.

            “Of course, your highness,” His voice was tight, cold, and emotionless as he repeated the same words he had been saying for months on end, “It won’t happen again, your highness.

            Nodding once in approval, Miraj returned her attention the performance before them. The display, which Anakin wished he did not have to witness but was forced to regularly, was just short of being a public sex show, with naked slaves dancing, caressing, rubbing, and writhing against one another. He felt sorry for them, just as he felt sorry for himself.

            Every night was the same. Just like the first night after he kneeled before the queen and vowed his loyalty in exchange for his friends’ freedom, Anakin led her to her doors. She turned to him and stepped forward, too close, taking space that before only Padmé had dared enter. She would purr in his ear and tempt him to join her, but Anakin would always stoically decline. He had no desire for her. He had no desire for anyone but Padmé, but especially not for slaver scum. Once the ornate doors would close behind Miraj, Anakin would go to his own rooms. Lavishly decorated, they were still a cell.

            Most nights Anakin barely had the energy to remove his armor before collapsing in his bed and succumbing to sleep, but the night he felt the change in the Force was different. For the first time since he was enslaved, Anakin mediated. Sitting in just his sleep pants and Force suppressing cuff, he crossed his legs, placed his hands on his knees, and closed his eyes. Breathing deeply, Anakin centered himself and focused on the shining light that had broken through into his dull existence. Never skilled at meditation even when the Force was accessible to him, Anakin struggled to connect to the new presence. But, just as his patience was waning, there was a spark. Deep in his mind Anakin felt the brush of another, of two others, curious but inexperienced and completely untouched. Never had Anakin experienced anything so blindingly light and pure. He reached further, trying to connect more deeply with the other Force presences but just as quickly as they touched, they faded away. When Anakin came out of his trance, for some unknown reason there were tears sliding down his cheeks.

 


	4. i keep hoping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot changes in a year and a lot stays the same, as well.
> 
> **WARNING: THIS CHAPTER INCLUDES NON-GRAPHIC RAPE**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets dark in the end when we get to Anakin and I'm sorry about that. Nothing is graphic though.

            If it hadn’t been for the holobroadcast playing in the background, just on to provide white noise so she could putter around without waking up the twins, Padmé wouldn’t have even realized it had officially been a year. The day had started off like all her other days since giving birth and returning to Naboo, one of the twins waking up crying and as soon as she settles them down the other wakes up. She’d been so focused on the twins, of looking forward to the rapidly approaching day when they would both sleep through the night, that she didn’t even realize it was the anniversary of Anakin’s death.

            But when the holoreporter mentioned it, mentioned a memorial service that was going to be held for him and his missing partner, Obi-wan, Padmé froze. She had been folding onesies and rolling socks as if it was a completely normal day while planets away thousands of people were gathering to mourn the husband she hadn’t even had time to think of that day. A standard year had passed since Anakin died. A full year without his laugh, his glare, or his smile, that special smile he saved just for her. Her heart clenched as did her fist around the onesie in her hand. When he died she couldn’t mourn, she had no right to, with their marriage still a secret. On the anniversary of his death, standing alone in her sitting room still listening for the telltale sound of one of the twins waking from their nap, Padmé realized she had no way to mourn.

            Nubian mourning customs all focused on the grave, on the final resting place. Upon burial a headstone would be placed to mark the grave and every year following another rock would be added. A mark of permanence, to symbolize the impact the departed had on the galaxy and on each individual life their own had touched. Water would be poured over the grave to symbolize moving forward, letting go, and to cleanse the spirit. All these customs, which Padmé had treasured for comfort when her grandmother had passed year before, were impossible to perform. Anakin, her dear, sweet Anakin, had no grave. There was no grave, nowhere to place remembrances, no way to hold on or let go. 

            For just a moment, it felt as if she was losing Anakin all over again. How could he be gone? How could she be unable to mourn? The woeful thoughts rushing through Padmé’s brain were quickly cut off though when, from the baby monitor, she heard the whimpers of Luke waking up.

            A wave of relief rushed over Padmé. She dropped the laundry she was holding onto the back of the couch and hurried to the nursery. It was true she didn’t have a grave and that she couldn’t practice the comforting rhythms of Nubian grieving rituals, but she had something better than a grave. She had to living pieces of Anakin to love, to hold, and to cherish. She didn’t need to mourn, not really, when she could instead hold Luke in her arms and see the same blue of Anakin’s eyes or blow a raspberry against Leia’ soft stomach and see the same smile. The people of Coruscant and the galaxy could go on and mourn Anakin, plaster his face on buildings again, and for a day pretend that losing him truly impacted them. Padmé wouldn’t, though. On the anniversary of Anakin’s death, she remembered him the same way she had for the best three months, by lifting their son out from his crib and scattering kisses across him as she carried him out of the room, leaving their daughter behind to sleep. She would mourn by living, by their children living, and by being happy, which is what he would have wanted.

* * *

 

            The choice to return to the senate was a difficult one for Padmé. Logically, she knew it was her duty to return, to serve for the people of Naboo and her queen. But Padmé had spent her entire life performing her duties for the betterment of the galaxy, first as queen, then as senator. As a new mother she had duties, too. New responsibilities that unlike her position in the senate could not be taken over by someone else. In her heart, Padmé wanted nothing more than to stay in Naboo with the twins in the yellow colored nursery overlooking the gardens and not needing to answer to anyone, not the queen, not the citizens, and certainly not the other senators.

            Her babies were growing, each day reaching a new milestone and simultaneously needing her more and needing her less. Every passing day led to something different in the twins. They were becoming more like people and less like babies. It was incredible for Padmé to watch, never being so close to someone so young on a daily basis. With her nieces’ visits were sporadic, it seemed as if one day they were babies and the next they were little girls. But with the twins, every little growth and new skill they learned Padmé experienced as it happened. She had to frantically baby proof everything when they started crawling within days of each other and then go to even more extreme lengths when Luke, every inch his father’s son, started pulling things he wanted towards him with the Force. Padmé was relieved Leia hadn’t started exhibiting Force abilities at the same time as Luke. Although, her daughter was ahead of her age group and already mastered her first word. It was ‘no’ and she wouldn’t stop saying it, even when she meant ‘yes’. Both were laughing more, babbling more, and starting to pull themselves up to stand on their own. Soon they would figure out how to walk and Padmé knew that was when all Malachor would break loose. Their first lifeday was just a few weeks away and Padmé often found herself wondering how the time went so quickly.

In a perfect universe the twins’ lifeday would be all Padmé would have to worry about. But Padmé knew the universe was far from perfect. The war was still raging on. And this Padmé also knew, that if the war continued so too would she continue to serve. Not for the greater good of the galaxy or even for the queen, but so one day her children would know a better life, a more peaceful life, than either of their parents ever lived.

* * *

* * *

 

            Only for moments a day could Anakin find true happiness. He would seek it out each night, closing his eyes, crossing his legs, and opening his mind. Despite the restriction of the Force suppressing cuffs, Anakin had begun a ritual. After escaping from the queen’s seduction each night, he would meditate, pushing past the barriers that were chained around his wrists, and reaching out towards those two blindingly bright presences. It was the only comfort he could find, the way those bright shining lights in the Force would press against his, curious and fascinated by his own presence. Often, the other Force presences would stay with him for a moment. As if whoever they were found as much comfort and safety in his signature as he did from theirs. But those moments of serenity, where the Force seemed to sing, were always fleeting.

            Either the other Force presences would pull away. Not strong enough yet for sustained contact, too untrained, or some other unknown factor leading to distraction. Or the Force suppressors would become too strong. It was draining for Anakin to overcome the cuffs and prolonged use of the Force, such as his attempts every night to connect with the mystery Force users would suck away his energy. Within minutes he would have to stop, cut off the connection on his end, and succumb to exhaustion. Bypassing the Force suppressing cuffs, while the only good part of Anakin’s day, was also the most taxing. Every second would pull more energy from him and often the connection would be broken abruptly by Anakin passing out. But those times, the light would seem to follow him in his dreams, giving him the only true rest he had experienced in nearly a year.

            Then, in over a year.

            He hadn’t even realized how much time had passed until it was too late. The monotony of Anakin’s life in slavery led to him standing outside Miraj’s doors, just like every night before. And, what Anakin assumed, every night to come.

            "I would rather die,” Anakin responded to the queen’s invitation to his room, “Than join you in your bed.”

            Her eyes narrowed at his words and something in the air shifted. The with the cuffs on his wrists Anakin was completely unprepared for her slap, her claws cutting into his cheek leaving a trail of blood and what would inevitably become three new scars below his old one. Anakin recoiled, shocked by the queen’s actions.

            “I have been patient, Skywalker,” The queen said, venom dripping from her words, “Have I not? I have treated you well, dressing you in the finest, providing you quarters that only pale to mine, and I have kept all of my promises.” As she spoke, Anakin attempted to back away, but as quickly as her claw went out to slap him, she shot out to grab him by the upper arm, her grip tighter than he would have imagined, “I have given you _time_ Skywalker, a _year_ of my time, but now that time is up. Join me.”

            He blinked for a moment, barely believing a full year had passed. Had it really been that long since he last was free? Since he last held his wife or saw his best friend? “No.” Anakin said as he tried to pull his arm from her but the natural strength of the zygerrian held out against that of a Forceless Jedi.

            Her other hand snapped up, grabbing his jaw and pulling his face close to hers. The movement pulled at the bleeding cuts across his face and Anakin had to hold in a wince at the pain. “You seem to be confused, _pet_ ,” She hissed, her mouth dangerously close to his, “This is no longer a request. This is an order from your queen and it is your duty to obey.” She surged forward, forcibly claiming his mouth and shoving her tongue between his lips. Anakin immediately bit down on her tongue, trying to force her away.

            She broke her mouth from his, blood dripping from her tongue. There was a flash of something dark in her eyes. “You have fire, pet,” She leaned forward once more, tightening her grip on his arm and snaking his other around his shoulders to pull him close against her, “This should be fun.”

            Anakin tried to fight against her, tried to escape, but she clicked a button on the bracelet she wore, and a strong surge of electricity came through his cuffs. He recoiled immediately but it was too late, already she was dragging him into her rooms. More electricity coursed through his body as she weakened him enough to chain him to her bed. He continued to struggle, he continued to scream, but it was to no avail. The sound of the ornate doors slamming shut behind them sounded like a jail cell closing and the call of a judge ordering an execution, all at once.

**Author's Note:**

> Unfortunately, updates for this fic will be pretty slow. I'm still working out some of the details in the story for consistency and I am trying to get future chapters finished before uploading more. Additionally, this fic is **not** focused on the action, it is focused on the characters, their thoughts, and their emotions (namely Padmé and Anakin) which is why the darker topics are only implied and further in the fic, fighting and battles won't be written, only spoke of in the aftermath. For updates on the fic, always check out my [tumblr](http://estrangedlestrange.tumblr.com)!


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